


Stay Down

by ActiveAgression



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M, Mutant Powers, Slight spoilers, Something Made Them Do It, X-Men: Apocalypse - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-11 08:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7041520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActiveAgression/pseuds/ActiveAgression
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's less of a fight to the death and more of a fight for dominance. </p><p>“Stop fighting. I don’t want to hurt you.” </p><p>“Then why are you?” </p><p>“Cause they’ll kill us both.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Through Yellow Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [不动](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7408603) by [cindyfxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cindyfxx/pseuds/cindyfxx)



> So... I watched X-Men: Apocalypse today - and fuck it, I liked it. And the fight scenes with Nightcrawler and Angel were awesome so... it inspired me. 
> 
> I'm still writing my usual people, don't freak out. 
> 
> But this just... powered out of me. It's been five hours since I watched it, so like this may be crap but I don't care. 
> 
> have fun ;) 
> 
> ... I'm a terrible person. Oh and SPOILERS! Not a lot, but like... there's the chance this reveals something that happens that you didn't know about.

He can hear cheering and voices - yelling, loud and so so close. He can feel the entire world shaking around him and he knows where he is - he knows - but the more the box quakes, the more it feels like he’s trapped beneath layers of suffocating air and he’s not going to make it.

The box stops, trembles once and again... then he’s thrown into the light.

It’s blinding for a second, not even bright but compared to his box it’s the sun. He blinks to clear the spots in his vision and a boy materialises from them. First, he’s blonde, then barechested and then- wings. He has wings-- like an angel and they’re beautiful. Kurt feels like maybe he’s being sacrificed to a deity.

He’s shoved further forward, electricity humming behind him and everything snaps into focus; the boy’s hair, not so blonde when Kurt can make out the dust and blood caught in it. His wings are heaving with each breath, entirely untouched by dust but every here and there - blood. There’s blood everywhere, not in overwhelming quantity but speckled about like a dog shaking itself of water. The boy suddenly doesn’t look like a deity, he looks tired and so unbelievably sad.

Also, Kurt’s pretty sure angels don’t wear leather jackets.

 

The boy moves, giving himself away before it happens as his wings flex and snap - driving him forward and Kurt teleports like he always does. He doesn’t think about it and tries to teleport out but the walls are electric and won’t let him through. He ends up on the ground, gasping in pain.

“Stay down,” he hears and angel boy steps close, fingers twisting in Kurt’s shirt collar almost gently before his wings beat back and with considerable strength, the shirt just comes apart. Kurt teleports from beneath him, leaving smoke behind as his confusion stays with him.

“Wha-” he tries to ask but the boy's so close so quickly, grabbing onto him once more and Kurt teleports but the boy sticks with him, jumping through each bounce and every time they reappear his wings try to flap and fail as the wind disappears beneath them.

“Stay down!” the boy yells, diving down towards the floor and Kurt teleports but he isn’t thinking right and can’t fucking see past feathers. He teleports only inches upwards and they fall, him face first into the dust of the stage. His arms are pulled back and pinned with one hand while the boy’s free hand catches on the small of his back and presses him further into the floor.

He leans forward and Kurt goes to teleport once more but the boy licks up the blue skin of his neck and his body melts on instinct. “Stop fighting,” Angel whispers into Kurt’s ear, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Kurt struggles a little, just to see what happens and the boy wrenches his arms higher, the other one pressing blunt fingernails into his spine.

“Then why are you?” he spits back, not quite able to turn his head around enough to see the boy.

“Cause they’ll kill us both.”

Kurt looks up, around the outside of the stage and there are guns everywhere, trained on them.

“What is this? A fight?” he hisses and the boy lets out the most defeated laugh.

“Of sorts,” he answers. Kurt goes to ask what the fuck that’s meant to mean but the fingers that were pressed against his spine only moments ago are sliding under the material of his open shirt. They’re gentle, at contrast with the wrenching pain in his shoulder.

“What-”

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Angel interrupts, “you’re going to pretend to struggle, just enough to be convincing and I'm going to pin you down and fuck y-”

Kurt teleports on principle, up onto the steel supports higher up. He’s still pinned by the other, still got fingers rubbing over his skin but he can’t really get rid of them. He could teleport multiple times, try to dislodge the other but he’d be lucky to manage.

“No,” he tries, struggling under the strong hands. Slowly wings fall around him, obscuring his view of the crowd - so far below now then they were before. His held hand is let go, falling back to the steel to help hold him up and Angel’s hands move up his sides to slide his open and ripped shirt back down over his shoulders. It bunches where his hands remain on the floor but Angel just guides him back till he’s sitting, legs bent beneath him - back pressed to Angel’s front - and his shirt falls down his shoulders and elbows. Falls till the sleeves get stuck around his wrists where there are buttons. Angel undoes them, so slow and his wings fall back to reveal the crowd again. Kurt tenses, teleports centimetres forward and Angel’s wings snap back to cover him immediately.

“Sorry,” he whispers, mouth dragging over Kurt’s now bare shoulder and the second button comes free. Angel tugs it off, lets it fall over the edge of the steel support. His hands come back to Kurt’s skin, rough and warm and spreading over his chest, down his ribs and concave stomach to rub circles into his hips.

“No,” Kurt whispers, bringing a hand up to push at Angel’s, “I don’t want this.”

Angel’s slides one of his hands over Kurt’s, brings it down to the ground until Kurt’s back on his hands and knees with Angel pressed behind him, wings wrapping around like a safety blanket.

“I know… I know you- fuck, I know okay? But we have to, or else they kill us… just let it be. Let me…”

Kurt shivers and his eyes feel hot with tears, “I can’t..”

“-You have to.”

“I can’t! I - I can’t…” his tears are flowing now. He feels them drip down over his face and sniffs.

Angel stills, “holy- are... Are you crying?” he asks incredulously, “god, it’s just sex. Just think of it as sex. I’ll be fucking gentle okay? I’m sorry if you aren’t gay or whatever- but you’re acting like you’ve never done anything before.”

Kurt sniffs again, bringing up the hand not held in Angel’s to rub over his eyes. “I haven’t,” he hisses.

“You… you haven’t..? Ever? Oh, that is so not cool. I can’t take your fucking virginity - fuck!”

Kurt thinks about teleporting again but there’s a squeal and then a voice over the loudspeaker, “ten,” it says.

“Fuck,” Angel growls, letting go of Kurt’s hand to roughly pull his hips back so they’re tightly pressed together. “Nine,” the loudspeaker drones.

“No!” Kurt growls in response, struggling away ineffectively as Angel just pulls harder and his wings flare open to reveal them both to the audience. Kurt flinches away from that, back into Angel as he claws his fingers into Angel’s thighs. “Put them back down!”

Angel ignores him, apparently ignoring the audience as well as he shrugs out of his jacket - just enough time for Kurt to teleport away without him. He appears with smoke on the ground floor, looking for an escape and... Angel lands on him from above, wings spread and arms grabbing while Kurt twists and teleports again and again. He vaguely registers the voice over the loudspeaker has stopped but mostly he’s just trying to get away.

They tumble together through the air and Angel’s still trying to pin him, still trying to wrench his clothes off him while Kurt resists until he teleports once more, higher up and Angel grimaces but snags a hand into the electric sides of the arena. He jolts and Kurt feels electricity travel through him as he tries to teleport and can’t. Angel’s wings keep them both aloft as manhandles Kurt around, hand still clenched in the fencing.

Once again, Kurt’s got his back pressed to Angel’s trembling front as electricity surges through them both and Angel reaches down one handed, deftly undoes his belt even as his fingers curl automatically.

“Stop running,” Angel growls into his ear, biting softly at the point. Even with electricity tensing his body, Kurt melts into Angel like a cat being petted.

“Huh…” Angel tries it again, slightly harder and Kurt writhes a little, finds himself becoming hard even as he tries to stop it.

Angel lets go of the fence, glides back over to the supports with his teeth clenched together over Kurt’s ear and Kurt feels like he’s sinking, tiny swirls of pleasure trickling through the lines of his skin from his ear.

They land and Angel shoves at his pants, pushes them down and off and Kurt couldn’t care less as his mind focuses everything on that feeling, the feeling of gentle teeth stroking over the point of his ear. It’s the most intense feeling Kurt’s ever had.

Angel’s wings spread away again as he struggles with his own pants and Kurt watches the crowd below vaguely, not really seeing them. Not really caring.

Everything feels so slow. Teeth unclench for just a moment though and his heart skyrockets, teleportation on the edge of happening until they clamp back over his ear - harder and he moans into it, presses his body back. God, everything feels so good.

Angel’s wings block everything out once more and he lets go, hands not constraining and teeth away. Kurt tenses once more. He registers finally that they’re both fully naked and pressed together in ways he’s never experienced but within Angel’s wings, it feels safer.

Angel sits back, careful his wings remain around them and he pulls gently at Kurt’s shoulder till he complies and they’re sitting face to face.

“We have to,” Angel mutters.

“I know.”

“I just- just focus on me, and forget everything else.”

Kurt nods and looks away, sees his own body and not for the first time wonders how anyone could want him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“What the hell do you have to be sorry for… I should be apologising…”

“I’m sorry you have to touch me like this, I know I’m not conventionally attractive…” Kurt mumbles, peeking up to find Angel staring at him almost sadly.

“Don’t be stupid,” he growls, pulling Kurt in closer until he’s sitting astride Angel’s lap, “you’re gorgeous.”

Kurt goes to argue but Angel rubs them together slowly, kisses at his neck and he forgets everything. He can feel his pulse in his ears and soft warm skin over his own. It’s a little like electricity pulsing through him again but when he peers over white feathers, the walls are still far away.

He thinks he can feel more than he ever has before.

 

Does it always feel like this?

 

“No… it doesn’t,” Angel mumbles against his neck, warm puffs of air spreading heat down his chest. Kurt blinks down at him, at blonde curls and blue eyes and miles of tan skin stretched over muscle. He thinks maybe he should feel insecure about his own body and normally he is, but Angel’s looking up at him like he’s the only thing in the world and no one’s ever looked at him like that.

“Ten,” he hears and Angel jolts but doesn’t react quite the same as before.

“Don’t freak out,” he mutters, holding Kurt’s gaze and Kurt nods even though he doesn’t understand. Angel’s wings fall away and Kurt freezes, fingers clawing into Angel’s back as his body prepares for teleportation automatically.

“Warren,” Angel whispers furiously, pulling Kurt closer against him and mouthing over his neck. Kurt reckons it probably looks painful, but it isn’t. He doesn’t relax, but he doesn’t teleport either.

“What?”

“Nine.”

“Fuck,” Angel growls, raking his hands down Kurt’s back - lower and lower to curl possessively over his rear. Kurt jerks away from the movement and Angel swears again, “don’t move!” he commands, “my name, it’s Warren.”

Kurt stares. He hadn’t expected that at all. He’s not sure what he had expected exactly, but not that.

“Eight,” the loudspeaker whines and Warren growls at it, flaring his wings out angrily as he pushes Kurt onto his back. It’s cold and he goes to sit up but Warren holds him down with one hand, the other stroking along his inner thigh - in and in and in, till it ghosts over Kurt’s length and he gasps, back arching off the steel. Warren presses his mouth back over Kurt’s ear.

“Sorry,” he whispers, fingers dipping lower and Kurt realises just as teeth close back over his ear. His teleport turns into a wrecked groan as he slumps and Warren presses a finger into him. Slump turns into a yell and his body jolts, tries to get away from the pain. His tail lashes, smoke starts to seep and his claws rake down Warren’s back hard enough that bright blood starts to drip into the dust below.

The crowd cheers and Warren bites harder at his ear - wings coming back around protectively. Kurt falls back, bonelessly - unsure what to feel; the pain or the pleasure, but unable to block either of them out.

Warren’s teeth fall away and pain sears up his back. “Hey now,” Warren soothes, pressing warm kisses over his face, “just relax. They’re gonna start counting again soon and I need you to be okay for that.”

“No,” Kurt whines, trying to drag himself away, “I can’t.”

Warren sighs, closes his eyes and retracts his fingers. “Stay here,” he commands and leaps off the support, naked and majestic.

 

Kurt closes his own eyes and focuses on his breathing, feeling so much more exposed without Warren there, without the angel’s wings.

“Hey!” he hears Warren yell and curls up, “I need some fucking lube!”

“Just fuck him dry!” someone yells back, “he can take it!”

“No, he fucking can’t! He’s virgin tight. I’d break him!”

“That’s the point!”

There’s a sharp pause and a hush falls over the entire crowd.

“Lube,” Warren snaps, “now.”

Kurt goes to look over the side but then Warren’s back, wings spread wide and a plastic jar clenched in his grip.

“How’d you-”

“Don’t worry,” Warren interrupts, “I got it. That’s what matters.”

He descends over Kurt, uncurling him and settling between his legs with one hand pressed to the floor and the other twisting the top off the jar. Without his control, Kurt’s tail wraps itself around Warren’s wrist - like a lifeline. Warren pauses, the anger seeming to drain out of him and he leans down to kiss one of Kurt’s knees.

“I won't hurt you,” he promises.

“I know.”

Kurt still tenses when he feels the fingers come back and jolts when not one, but two fingers slip in but it doesn’t hurt like it had before. It doesn’t catch and drag, they just slide in and it feels almost okay… Almost.

Warren stretches him with an odd focus and intensity that at first makes Kurt uncomfortable, but ultimately leaves him feeling like there’s hot liquid sloshing through him - burning him from the inside. He wants something, he knows, but has no idea what.

 

When the loudspeaker starts counting down again, they both jump - Warren’s fingers slip out and he hurries to slick himself up while Kurt tries to ignore the eyes on them and the cold seeping into the warmth Warren had been supplying. He closes his eyes, feeling like drifting away when there’s pressure at his hole again and he relaxes, up until the stretch gets worse than ever before and the slow shallow slide gets harsher as more and more fills him.

His eyes snap open and he doesn’t have to look down like before to see Warren, cause he’s braced above Kurt, mouth open and eyes watching him carefully. His hands are holding him up on either side of Kurt’s shoulders and… and it’s not fingers this time. It should’ve occurred before, but it hadn’t really but now it really really is… Kurt’s got a dick inside him. Kurt’s getting fucked. Holy shit.

“You okay?” Warren asks, stilling and Kurt kind of just nods on instinct cause it’s not as bad as he thought it would be. Then Warren nods and slides in the rest of the way. It doesn’t hurt so much as it’s too much - pressing in overwhelming ways and he full body shivers, tail tightening.

Warren pulls back, worried and obviously about to ask but the loudspeaker tells them to ‘hurry the fuck up,’ and he shakes his head, leans back down, curling an arm under Kurt’s back so he’s arched upwards and fucks back into him. The angle or depth or fucking something is insane and Kurt’s body tenses, tries to go somewhere but can’t and Warren starts up a brutal pace that has him gasping and squirming and god... It’s too fucking much.

He shoves at Warren, shoves hard. “Stt--s-stop..”

Warren shakes his head, snapping his hips harder and faster. His lips come down to close over Kurt’s ear and he bites down, teeth clenched. Kurt cries out at it all - too much too much too much - and Warren slows as he finally seems to notice Kurt’s full body shivering and his teeth are chattering together. Warren pulls back, searches his face urgently, trying to find what’s wrong but the loudspeaker starts up again. Warren growls out at the crowd, at everything and continues rougher than before and angrier.

Kurt thinks maybe he’s falling apart; that the lines over his skin were just marking out the shapes his body would eventually fall into after this day. He feels like he’s evolving, but he’s being ripped apart on the way - maybe being ripped too far to come back. The feeling grows and grows until finally, like a rubber band stretched to its limit, he snaps.

The crowd falls into silence as he screams and screams until it tapers out, his voice hoarse. Warren fucks him through it all, obviously distressed but trying to get it over with. When he comes, his face contorts in anger and he roars, wings spreading far around him.

Finally, he slumps, wings curling around them and the support and Kurt thinks he can hear the crowd fucking cheering but it’s muffled behind feathers. Vaguely, he knows he’s still shivering hard. He feels cold, so cold and empty like all his organs went out to play.

Warren kind of floats them back down and it’s so hard not to think of him as Angel. He tugs, sort of ,at Angel’s wing and Warren leans down to hear him. “Kurt,” Kurt mumbles and Warren stumbles a little, wings curling closer as Kurt passes out.

 

He wakes up surrounded by feathers.


	2. Through the Eyes of an Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just Warren's POV of the previous chapter. 
> 
> Hopefully good, whatever. 
> 
> I like it more than the other so like... eh. 
> 
> Have fun!

They wheel a box in this time, with buckles and wires. Warren looks at it and can’t help but wonder how they even managed to fit a mutant in there… What if it’s a child? He’d kill himself before doing this to a child.

Buckle one goes and he can barely breathe, eyes fixed on the box. Please don’t let it be a child. Don’t be a child. God, if you’re listening - if you exist, you fucking motherfucking dickhead, don’t let that be a child.

Buckle two goes. And the last one. A blue body springs from it, lithe and half-crouched as he blinks, blinks again. His eyes focus on Warren and holy fucking- no. No. NO!

He’s not quite a child, thank god, but the eyes… They’re yellow and that should be off putting really, but what feels like a sledgehammer to the stomach is how goddamn wide they are. He has fucking bambi eyes and he looks scared beyond belief. Unlike Warren, this is probably his first time in a place like this. The loudspeaker had said circus, but it’s just as likely they picked him up off the streets. Either way, he has no idea what this is - Warren’s going to seem like such a monster… maybe he is one.

 

Demon kid gets shoved further in and unlike the usual, he doesn’t whirl around to bare his teeth and growl at the outsiders - or even at Warren. He stumbles a little, tail flicking out to keep balance. His eyes stay locked on Warren, looking him over carefully. He has to have noticed the blood by now - none of it Warren’s and everywhere.

Just get it fucking over with. He launches himself, not having focused on what the kid’s ability could be past aesthetics. In a cloud of smoke the kid disappears. Warren whirls around to see him reappear higher up against a wall he’d obviously tried to teleport through, bursting into smoke and reappearing slightly further away again and again until finally he falls to the ground in a cloud of dust.

Warren approaches swiftly. “Stay down,” he commands, hoping the kid’ll just listen and this can be done. He twists his fingers into shirt collar and pulls, using his wings for more power. The top fairly comes apart, hanging from Nightcrawler’s shoulders. The kid disappears in a rush of smoke beneath him and reappears slightly further away. Warren grabs before he can even think about it and this time, when the kid teleports, Warren teleports with him. It’s nauseating a little but he sticks with it, trying to grab more - how the fuck is he meant to do this?

“Stay down!” he yells and dives towards the floor, little demon kid first and he thinks maybe he should feel bad but his head is spinning and this time, when they burst into smoke - they reappear in much the same place with the same momentum… They fairly crash into the stage. Warren acts fast - has to - and pins both skinny blue arms with one of his own hands, using the other to press Nightcrawler further into the floor. God, he’s so fucking skinny.

The kid struggles, of course, and Warren’s kind of fucked up; he’s been doing this for far too long and even before that, restraints and blindfolds were kind of a thing for him, so when lithe blue skin flows under his and presses brilliantly against his own… Warren can’t quite help his dick jumping with interest - he also can’t quite help leaning forward to lick up the blue column of neck. The boy goes fairly boneless, which is hot in of itself. As an afterthought he stops at ear level to whisper, “Stop fighting... I don’t want to hurt you.”

The kid struggles again, ineffectively and Warren automatically wrenches his arms higher up, presses his finger nails into Nightcrawler’s back in warning. The kid’s head turns to the side, black hair obscuring most of his face.

“Then why are you?”

 

That hits him hard. Warren stares, almost lets go but doesn’t - looks up instead to see the hungry faces of the crowd. “Cause they’ll kill us both.”

The kid looks up this time, head tilting as he takes in the edges of the arena - the countless men with guns and knives… and they didn’t say so much they’d kill Warren when he’d come here but somewhere between the guns and the hissed threats of “do it, or i’ll take off those pretty wings” he’d painted a not so pleasant picture of the consequences in a place like this.

“What is this?” Nightcrawler hisses, ”A fight?”

Warren laughs… a fight? God, he fucking wishes. “Of sorts,” he offers in response - the kid’ll figure it out soon enough anyway.

As a kind of hint, Warren slips his hands under torn fabric to brush over the other’s skin - pressing lightly. He can feel ridges in the skin and wonders if it’s all the peculiar raised markings apparent on the kid’s face or if there are some scars there too. Whippings or long jagged knife cuts… it wouldn’t surprise him.

“What-” Nightcrawler chokes out, almost to a full question but that question could be any in a long list of things that would make Warren want to stop - that would make the guilt too fucking much. It’s about survival, damnit!

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he interrupts quickly, “you’re going to pretend to struggle, just enough to be convincing and I'm going to pin you down and fuck y-”

In a rush of smoke, they teleport and they’re suddenly up on the supports far above the crowd; simultaneously at the best vantage point and angle for those perverts to see but far enough away that they’re gonna be mostly a blur of white and blue… and two pinpricks of large orange tear filled ey- -- - - - fucking anyway… moving on.

“No,” the kid mutters, writhing in an attempt to get free. Warren knows he’s a monster for how his dick twitches at the sight and how dry his mouth becomes. The kid’s gorgeous is the thing, and so so innocent. Warren’s primal animal side wants to claim and keep and hide Nightcrawler away from the world - away from all the depravity, and ruin him in Warren’s own design.

He tries to push those feelings back but regardless, his wings come down protectively. He knows he doesn’t want to but he lets go of the kid’s arms, his own hands coming down without permission to trace up over the kid’s abdomen and higher until he stops them. He knows what he has to do. Fuck the kid, don’t get attached. Fuck him, don’t get attached. Fuck-- oh fuck it.

Gently, he pulls the kid’s ripped shirt down his blue shoulders until it bunches. Warren hefts his blue torso up to the point where the kid is practically sitting in his lap, back to his front. He can’t even imagine how hard keeping it together would be if he could see those eyes. The shirt gets stuck around wrists - buttons - and he carefully releases them, focusing so hard on it that his wings fall away and --

Smoke. Teleport… fuck. It’s only a few centimetres though and he lifts his wings back up and around to hide them away.

“Sorry,” Warren whispers, tracing his mouth over a shoulder and wow… okay then. He practically wrenches the other button off the shirt in his haste to get it off and then the shirt just slides off so easily, like it’s trying to help Warren along and he throws it away - stares at those thin shoulders. Nightcrawler should never wear shirts, Warren decides, they hide too much away.

He brings his hands back round to touch, over chest and ribs and - the kid’s been malnourished for sure - stomach until he’s at hips and they’re sharp against his palms.

A hand pushes at his own weakly and he has to lean further down to catch the end of the slight whisper the kid’s let out, “-n’t want this.”

It’s so hard to stop himself from recoiling away from that accusation (like Warren _wants_ to fucking do this) but he manages - feels like he might cry and he’s supposed to be a badass goddamn it. The kid’s just got this way of getting under his skin.

Warren takes the hand in his own, pulls it back down to the ground - gently. Like this, with Nightcrawler on his hands and knees and Warren pressed tightly against him, Warren worries the kid can feel how much Warren wants this - not this exactly, but _this… him._

But the kid doesn’t want him… and definitely doesn’t want this.

 

“I know…” Warren mutters into the strands of black hair, “I know you- fuck, I know okay? But we have to, or else they kill us… just let it be. Let me…” Let me...

Nightcrawler shivers with his whole body, friction against Warren and he restrains himself from moving into it.

“I can’t..”

“...You have to.”

“I can’t! I - I can’t…”

Warren goes to argue his point some mor- sniff -

 

.... Sniff?? ? ??

Oh no.

 

“Holy- are... Are you crying?” Warren questions, a bit too far in denial to really understand that reaction, “god, it’s just sex. Just think of it as sex. I’ll be fucking gentle okay? I’m sorry if you aren’t gay or whatever- but you’re acting like you’ve never done anything before.”

Another sniff. Warren feels like such a bastard.

“I haven’t,” the kid hisses. His tail thwacks angrily against Warren’s thigh and- haven’t. He hasn’t. He’s… God, Warren is _such_ a bastard!

“You… you haven’t..? Ever? Oh, that is so not cool. I can’t take your fucking virginity - fuck!”

Except Warren totally could - and fucking wants to.  Just… just not like this.

There’s a silence where neither of them says a thing but Nightcrawler’s tensing a little and then a mechanical squeal - oh fuck no - and the countdown starts.

“Fuck,” Warren growls, pulling them back together harder and tighter and the friction feels so so good.

“Nine,” the loudspeaker continues.

“No!” the kid whimpers, struggling against Warren’s insistent pull but he’s smaller and it’s easy to manhandle him around. (Warren doesn’t find that hot - he doesn’t! - at all.) He flares his wings out, lets the audience have a great eyeful. Nightcrawler struggles away from that too, just as ineffectively, and he practically climbs back into Warren’s lap. His nails dig harshly into Warren’s thighs but neither of them really care. Warren’s past fearing pain anyway.

“Put them back down!” Nightcrawler demands.

Warren wants to but the loudspeaker's still going and they don’t have time for this. He lets go for a second, just a second to pull his jacket off and Nightcrawler becomes smoke beneath him. Warren jumps off the ledge without even thinking about it, his animal urges pinpointing and tracking for him. They know where the kid is from smell alone and Warren lands on the kid, arms trying to subdue as the bird brain lurking within his screams to tear at the kid, rip skin and make him take it.

The kid teleports, twisting and again again again. Here and there and near the roof and… the roof. Warren doesn’t like the idea but the more the kid teleports and tries to get away, the more his instincts tell him to bury the sharp points of his wings in blue skin. Warren reaches out and buries his fingers in the electrified metal of the cage boundaries.

Electricity trembles through him like a rush of fire trying to toast him from the inside. He can barely think - and Nightcrawler can’t teleport. His wings beat softly, keep them in the air as he turns Nightcrawler around against him so once more they’re pressed back to chest.

Warren struggles to undo Nightcrawler’s belt as electricity tries to curl his fingers into fists, but he manages.

“Stop running,” he manages to choke out, biting at the point of Nightcrawler’s ear in an effort to keep composure, keep his hand in the fencing. The kid slumps against him - thousands of volts travelling through him - and he slumps, collapses back into Warren. He bares his neck, whines softly.

“Huh…” Warren bites again, experimentally, slightly harder. The kid writhes and moans for it. Keeping his teeth clenched around ear, Warren glides them back to the high supports. Nightcrawler doesn’t teleport, doesn’t do anything at all. Once on land, Warren pushes at the kid’s pants. He takes them off entirely and the kid doesn’t seem like he notices at all. He seems a little like he’s been drugged.

Warren pulls off his own pants, a little tricky with his teeth around the kid’s ear but doable. He lets go vaguely at one point, when they reach his knees and Nightcrawler tenses and shakes. Warren clamps them back down harder. The kid fucking arches back, moans so loud the crowd goes quiet and Warren’s dick fucking aches.

He lets go, tries to keep his instincts in check, and pulls his teeth away. Nightcrawler tenses but doesn’t teleport, absently seeming to note their nakedness. Warren sits back slowly, makes sure his wings remain as shields around them. He pulls Nightcrawler back so they’re facing one another and there’s the ever present fear in his eyes - making Warren want to die.

“We have to,” he mutters instead.

“I know.”

“I just- just focus on me, and forget everything else.”

Nightcrawler looks away, down, and apologises.

“What the hell do you have to be sorry for!?” Warren startles, “I should be apologising…”

“I’m sorry you have to touch me like this,” Nightcrawler starts and Lord, if he could read minds instead of his fancy teleporting - he’d know it’s not at all a chore for Warren to touch him. He’d know Warren’s come up with enough fantasies in this short time to last him a lifetime.

“... I know I’m not conventionally attractive…” he finishes. Warren’s going to find whatever moron told him that and kill him. Kill the absolute fuck out of him.

“Don’t be stupid,” he growls, pulling Kurt onto his lap, “you’re gorgeous.”

With that, he slides his skin over the kid’s. Sweat creates a slick slide while the dust and dirt and - blood, oh right - clings and catches. If he presses up at just the right angle his dick makes contact with something equally hot and hard. God.

Nightcrawler sighs and wiggles and whines, looking off into the distance while Warren presses light sucking kisses up the column of his neck.

“Does it always feel like this?” the kid whispers, seeming oddly detached and far away.

“No… it doesn’t,” Warren mumbles and not for the first time, wonders if Nightcrawler’s been drugged up. They don’t usually do that, but maybe.

Nightcrawler turns back, blinks at him and his pupils are so dilated the reddish yellow is barely noticeable. He’s gorgeous still, bambi eyes and soft dark hair. The pupils are a worry though.

“Ten.” The loudspeaker sounds and Warren jolts, lost in his thoughts. The kid’s not going to like this.

“Don’t freak out,” Warren mutters urgently, waiting for a nod before his wings drop away. Nightcrawler freezes, digs his claws into Warren’s back and it hurts but all he has to do is keep the kid there and make sure he doesn’t teleport. Don’t teleport. Don’t move. Nightcrawler tenses more and it’s not going to fucking work.

“Warren,” Warren hisses, pulling the smaller body tighter against him and he licks up over his neck. He slides his mouth up, careful to be gentle even as he tries to make it look more like he’s mauling the kid.

“What?”

“Nine.”

“Fuck.” Warren drags his nails down the kid’s back, stopping to grip his rear end in a fierce and possessive way. It looks all the more convincing with his instincts roaring at him to do that exact thing and more but he closes his eyes to that.

The kid jerks away though and his instincts don’t like that at all. He swears, more in response to his urge to draw blood then the situation.

“Don’t move!” he growls, “...my name, it’s Warren.” He’s never given out his name before and from the way Nightcrawler stills and stares, he hadn’t expected it either.

“Eight.”

Warren turns to growl at it, wings flaring out as he desperately tries to stop himself from anything primal - anything that’d scare Nightcrawler away.

Still, he pushes the kid down onto his back, holds him down and strokes inwards along his thigh. His hand meets soft velvety skin and Nightcrawler throws his head back, arches off the ground. He is not going to like this either, Warren knows and leans forward to close his mouth over the other’s ear.

“Sorry,” he whispers and drags his fingers lower till they’re pressing insistently against Nightcrawler’s entrance. He bites hard at the pointed ear and the kid slumps, looking oddly betrayed for a second before the bliss takes over and Warren presses a single finger in further.

He’s fucking tight and his entire body coils and snaps, tail swinging angrily. Vaguely Warren feels harsh pain down his back but is more worried about the blue-black smoke starting to appear from thin air. As a counter, he bites down harsher - brings his wings around to hide them in the hopes Nightcrawler will stay.

The kid does, falling back and breathing heavily in and out like he’s new to them both and wants to try them equally.

Hesitantly Warren unclenches his teeth, jaw starting to ache. Nightcrawler tenses once more, obviously in pain.

“Hey now,” Warren whispers, leaning forward to kiss over his face, “just relax. They’re gonna start counting again soon and I need you to be okay for that.”

“No, I can’t.” The kid’s trying to drag himself away, mouth falling open and closing again like he wants to scream but can’t get it out.

… Monster.

Warren lets go, pulls his finger out, “stay here,” and plummets off the side of the ledge to the ground. He lands heavily in front of the door, glaring out at the sick expressions on the other side. They’re already lifting their guns.

“Hey!” Warren yells out, sneering as they stumble back from his presence - his outstretched wings. He’s always looked more intimidating naked and covered in blood. “I need some fucking lube!”

“Just fuck him dry!” a particularly nasty guy yells back, grinning, “he can take it!”

“No, he fucking can’t!” Warren growls, “He’s virgin tight. I’d break him!”

“That’s the point!”

Warren glares and lifts his left wing to almost press against the electric fencing. He can feel the hum and knows it’d get fried against the current. He also knows he’s a fan favourite, specifically for his wings - the paradox of an angel forcing mutants to their knees with wrath and sick pleasure. They’re making a pretty penny off his wings.

“Lube,” he growls, “now.”

The leader almost gets up out of his chair but doesn’t, just nods minutely and he’s being handed a fairly clean looking plastic jar of vaseline. Hell, it could be worse.

He growls at the perverts lurking outside, nods slowly at the leader and leaps back into the air. Nightcrawler’s trying to look over the side, all hesitant and wide-eyed.

“How’d you-”

“Don’t worry. I got it. That’s what matters.”

He fucking unravels the kid from his tiny shaking huddle, settles between his thighs with a jar of lube in hand and this awful feeling in his stomach. He’s pretty sure if he does this, he’s definitely a monster. Those amber eyes are staring at him though. There’s not a lot of trust in them, but there’s a lot more then Warren deserves. Especially since his animal side’s still calling for him to rend flesh and maim the poor kid, make him take it.

He’s trying to resist but god, his fingers are already twisting the lid from the lube and hesitating. His eyes flick back to Nightcrawler. He doesn’t want to use it; he really really does- but he doesn’t. Not really. There’s a burning in his heart and throat and brain, a sort of buzzing. It’s his instincts rising, trying to take over and fucking succeeding.

Monster.

God, he’s a fucking monster.

Nightcrawler’s pointed blue tail wraps itself around his wrist though and there’s trust in his gaze. There’s still that trust and all Warren’s doing is thinking about hurting the kid.

Monster.

Still, the buzzing recedes into nothing and with a clear head Warren leans forward to plant a soothing slow kiss to Nightcrawler’s skinny knee.  

“I won't hurt you,” he promises shakily.  

“I know.”

Warren’s slow about it. He slicks his fingers up, uses way too much and brings them back. Carefully, he slips two inside. Nightcrawler makes a face but it’s not a wince and it’s not a scream so Warren continues.

When the kid eventually stops looking so stiff and visibly sinks against the ground, Warren has to remind those instincts of his to fuck off. When the kid starts writhing and letting out these little moans Warren bites down hard on his own lip so the pain will distract him.

He almost doesn’t notice the loudspeaker starting up again, jumping only when he feels the kid jump. When he realises what it was that caused it - not him - he fumbles around with more lube, stroking it over himself and grimacing at the audience.

The kid’s got his eyes closed when Warren looks back at him, oddly calm for someone so exposed. Warren can’t help but feel oddly protective over the trust he’s been given.

All the same though, he’s about to ruin the kid. He braces himself over Nightcrawler’s shoulders with one hand, using the other to help guide him to the right place.

He knows to be slow. He knows to be, but it’s a challenge regardless. He’s about a third in when Nightcrawler actually seems to notice what’s happening. He jolts, eyes opening wide and innocent. He looks so unbelievably vulnerable - not even scared, but vulnerable.

“You okay?” Warren asks quietly, pausing.

The kid nods a little, slowly and Warren figures it’s a lie or at least just a automatic reply, but he can’t help thrusting in the rest of the way. The kid shivers, his tail tightening hard around Warren’s wrist. It’s painful but he doesn’t care, more worried about Nightcrawler.

He’s still shivering, hard.

Warren pulls back then, opens his mouth to ask but doesn’t quite get to the words. The loudspeaker comes on again, just as obnoxiously as always. There isn’t a countdown but it’s the leader’s voice that comes through, telling them to ‘hurry the fuck up. His patience must’ve run out. Not good.

Warren slips his arm under Nightcrawler, arches and arranges him into an easier position. The kid’s practically boneless but only stays that way until Warren thrusts back into him. Then he’s shaking and tense, writhing against Warren’s hold. Warren wants to believe it’s because it’s good, but knows it’s not. Fucking monster.

Nightcrawler shoves at him, unwittingly nicking him with his claws.

“St-stop,” he stutters, voice cracking with the rhythm Warren’s settled into. But Warren can’t stop, can’t because of the guns trained on them. Can’t because he doesn’t want to. He keeps going, keeps his pace and leans down to clasp his teeth over the point of one of Nightcrawler’s ears again. It’s a little like a trump card; how Nightcrawler simultaneously arches and cries out as his body tries to slump and purr.

He’s shivering though. Shivering like he’s just been pulled from under ice. His body’s racked with tremendous shudders and Warren can hear his teeth clacking together. Warren pulls back enough to see Nightcrawler’s expression and fucking goddamn. The kid looks drugged, eyes half lidded and face flushed purple. Despite this, he looks terrified.

But the damn loudspeaker starts up again, counting down. Ten, nine, eight and Warren growls at the crowd.

He’s just got to get it over with. Just got to get it over with. Fucking- Warren clamps his eyes shut as tears threaten to spring forth. How long has he been here? How long has he been doing this… it’s all such a blur, it’s all so long. How many people has he done this to?

Warren’s all about survival and self preservation, but god, he feels like killing himself.

He could - it’d be easy.

Just do it, just go.

Electrify his insides, blunt force trauma, drowning, chemical, take them all down with him.

Do it.

Do it.

DO IT!

 

The kid’s screaming.

Warren’s mind is hazy and his hands are shaking, but the kid’s screaming.

Nightcrawler needs him.

Warren opens his eyes, notes how silent the crowd has become. He’s still fucking the kid, can’t stop now, but the blue skin appears intact. He’s not gushing blood - he’s not even trickling it.

Warren takes a glance down, but there’s no blood there either. It surprises Warren and he feels sick.

Nightcrawler’s breathing shallowly though, shiny with sweat and… he’d come? Warren can’t quite believe it. He can see the evidence - definitely came, but he can’t quite believe it nonetheless.

The kid enjoyed it?

Probably not, but Warren’s instincts don’t care. They preen and celebrate. His mate liked being taken, liked being claimed. Warren fights that too, knows it’s not right - not his fucking mate, and fuck if he enjoyed it - but still. His instincts purr and finally he comes.

It feels like claiming, it feels like breeding and it feels perfect. He feels the stretch of his wings spreading, feels his face contorting into a roar but he can’t control it. His body reacts on instinct.

Almost as quickly though, they abate - satisfied - and he slumps, trying to cover them both from the watchful eyes of the audience with his wings.

It’s so easy not to think, so he doesn’t. He moves on autopilot, carrying Nightcrawler back down to the dusty ground. The kid’s pretty much gone, head lolling as his eyes stare listlessly at Warren’s feathers. When he tugs on one of Warren’s wings, Warren almost snaps at him - trying to prepare himself to give Nightcrawler back to his box. He doesn’t though. He leans down, a bit too far as his head sinks and keeps going but he stops it in vaguely the right place.

The kid takes a moment, blinking so slow with those bambi eyes. “Kurt,” he finally mumbles and Warren misses a step.

Kurt?

Warren can’t help his wings curling closer as Kurt’s eyes fall closed.

The gate’s open though, thugs standing on the other side beckoning him to hand Kurt over. He can’t though, shakes his head and prepares himself for a fight. But even as his wings spread wide, Kurt mumbles something in his sleep and Warren stumbles out onto the street, watching wispy smoke clouds dissipate.

The kid teleported in his sleep. Not far, but far enough.

Warren can hear the commotion inside the building, hears doors being thrown open and yelling. He has little desire to stick around for that. Clutching Kurt tighter, he lifts off - slowly, his exhausted wings protesting the flight and the extra weight. He strains through it though and merges seamlessly into the night sky.

This is the night he escapes, the night he flies away. It’s not like he’d pictured, but as Kurt murmurs and his tail loops itself around Warren’s forearm, he thinks it’s even better.

* * *

 

In the arms of the angel 

Fly away from here

From this dark cold hotel room

And the endlessness that you feel

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comment... whatever the fuck else. 
> 
> Hope you liked it... hope this pairing isn't too weird but i liked it. 
> 
> yeah


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